


Trust

by kinkandquiet



Series: Lyndon and Alex [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Desperation, Kink, M/M, Omorashi, Paruresis, Pee shy, Watersports, shy bladder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9101383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkandquiet/pseuds/kinkandquiet
Summary: Lyndon still can't pee, so Alex helps him.





	1. Chapter 1

So far, Alex’s efforts in courting Lyndon had consisted of pining from a distance, pining harder, pining really very hard, and pressing on Lyndon's bladder until he pissed himself.

It was an unconventional courtship, Alex had to admit.

"Remind me why you don't like flowers."

In the passenger seat of Alex’s car, Lyndon blinked himself from sleep. "Huh?"

"Flowers. Why don't you like them?"

Lyndon sunk back into his seat with a mild, "What are you talking about?"

"It's important, come on. Flowers."

"Flowers confuse me."

"How?"

"Same way you confuse me."

Alex frowned, glancing away from the road. "Okay, but how?"

"Just..." Lyndon blinked, looking around the interior of the car.

It was early morning and the sun was starting to shine in through the windows. The camping gear was in the back. Lyndon was wrapped in the thin blanket from the night before. Both their clothes were still damp with rain despite Alex's efforts to dry them, so the heater was on, blasting their hands and feet.

Lyndon quietly took all this in before closing his eyes again.

"Hey--"

"I want to sleep," Lyndon said, tilting his head on the headrest towards Alex. The early light warmed his exposed throat.

Alex's heart twisted. "Yeah, okay. Sleep."

He returned his eyes to the road.

No flowers, then.

Lyndon knew Alex loved him. He had to. For one thing, Alex had told him. For another, it ate him up inside and spit him out mangled and he knew it showed on his face like all his feelings did.

Lyndon knew and he couldn't take it.

Alex could bring him all the flowers, chocolates, and standard gifts of affection in the world, and Lyndon still wouldn't know how to take it.

Perhaps the way he had taken Alex's affection last night, the way he needed it, meant something. There had been a strange new intimacy between them as he'd pressed Lyndon's bladder, exposed and raw. Alex felt exposed and raw, but that wasn't uncommon since Lyndon had broken his heart.

Perhaps it had meant something, but Alex couldn't fathom what.

\-----

After delivering Lyndon to his lonely apartment following the strangest night of their relationship (relationship on hiatus) Alex didn't have the slightest idea how to proceed. Lyndon wouldn't talk about what had happened, that much was clear. 

It turned out it didn't matter, because Lyndon came to him.

Not a week later, at the party of a mutual friend, strobe lights were flashing, Alex was nursing a beer, the music was too deafening for conversation, and seeing as he didn't want to dance, the night was more loudly boring than it was fun. Then Alex caught sight of Lyndon's blond head in the crowd. He set down his drink. Maybe he would dance after all.

But Lyndon was parting the crowd, not joining it. He moved through the room with determination, popping out of the crowd of dancers, swaying a little.

He was drunk, Alex had time to think before Lyndon was draped over him.

If he hadn't just set down his drink, he'd have dropped it.

"Hey?" Alex's voice came out high-pitched. Lyndon nuzzled his neck. Teeth grazed his throat. Alex jumped. "Hey!"

"Hey." Lyndon's voice was all drowsy innocence. "I found you."

"You're drunk, you fool." Alex wound his arms around Lyndon's body, holding him up.

Lyndon reached around him, almost toppling them backward, and drew back with Alex's abandoned beer. He tilted his head and downed it.

"You're too drunk to be drinking." Alex peeled his empty glass from Lyndon's hand.

"More drinks." Lyndon laughed, sounding a bit unbalanced. "All the drinks. Get me a drink, Alex."

"I'll get you water." When Alex tried to untangle himself, Lyndon tangled them together anew.

"No. No, no, no." He buried his nose in Alex's neck and breathed out. It tickled. "I found you."

"You did." If Alex weren't so in love, he wouldn't feel so charmed. "Here I am. Were you looking for me?"

"I look for you sometimes." Lyndon frowned now, his lips soft and pink. "You're never there."

"Yeah. You broke up with me. You didn't want me around." Alex wondered for a moment if Lyndon was drunk enough to forget. He'd never quite managed that level of drunkenness himself, though for a time he'd made a solid effort.

Lyndon stretched his arms over Alex's shoulders. "I need you."

"You really do." Alex shifted them, one arm tucked around Lyndon's back while his ex clung to him. "Right now, I think you need me to take you home."

"I need a drink." Lyndon protested. "I'm going to get very drunk."

Alex smiled, struggling to keep Lyndon upright. "Mission accomplished, Captain."

Lyndon said, "I'm going to get so drunk I piss myself."

Alex surveyed the body in his arms and concluded after a moment, "Probably."

Lyndon was already nodding like this was fabulous, his head bobbing on his neck as if it was just a bit too heavy. "More drinks! More drinks for more... drunk."

"Sure, right. Let me just take you to the drinks."

With one arm wrapped around Lyndon, who was following obediently enough, Alex began weaving them through the crowd.

He had to find Elaine. It was her house, her party, and Lyndon was her friend. He should leave Lyndon with her. He should, because people who had broken up, people who could hardly stand to hear each other's names it hurt so much, didn't drunkenly hold each other up at parties.

People didn't, but Lyndon and Alex apparently did. By the time he found Elaine in the kitchen, Lyndon was nuzzling his neck, draped entirely over his shoulder. Alex figured he was allowed to enjoy the intimacy, considering Lyndon was the one who'd initiated it. Elaine looked like she disagreed.

“Who’s Lyndon-sitting?” Alex asked over the din.

Elaine just stared at him. Her perceptive hazel gaze glanced between Lyndon and Alex meaningfully.

He tried not to feel guilty. Lyndon had come to him, after all. "Okay, but who's _supposed_ to be watching him?"

Elaine shook her head. “He’s not high.”

Lyndon laughed.

Elaine looked concerned. “Honey, you’re not supposed to be high.”

Lyndon’s friends knew as well as Alex did that Lyndon needed to be watched, even if all he’d had was a puff of someone else’s joint. His brain chemistry was a beautiful and chaotic thing. Alex had stopped him from throwing himself off a building twice in the time they’d known each other.

Alex turned to the body in his arms, meeting milky blue eyes. “Did you take something?”

Lyndon tilted his head thoughtfully. “I think I took everything. I didn’t mean to. You give so easily. I really didn’t mean to, you know.”

Alex didn’t let himself think about that too much. “Did you take something from someone else? Tonight. Pills, weed, anything?”

“Only you.”

Elaine was frowning. “What did you give him?”

“Nothing.” Alex sighed. “He’s gone all metaphoric.”

Elaine nodded slowly. “Well, someone’s got to watch him.”

“I’ve got him.” Perhaps he'd been a little fast, because Elaine raised her elegant eyebrows.

“You sure?” The music was growing louder, and Lyndon was growing heavier in his arms. “Because I thought you didn’t, you know, anymore.”

Alex restrained the defensive need to snap at her. It was a fair point. They were broken up, and he’d been fairly clear he didn’t even want to hear Lyndon’s name for months previous, despite their mutual friends.

“I’m sure.”

"He's sure," Lyndon repeated for Elaine's benefit. He favored her with a dreamy smile. Elaine looked understandably alarmed. Lyndon told her soothingly, "He has drinks."

"I don't," Alex reassured her. "I'm walking him home."

The songs switched. Elaine nodded. She looked to Lyndon. "Be good for Alex, okay? You know how he..." She glanced at Alex. "Be good."

You know how he loves you, she'd meant to say. Alex didn't need to be reminded. It was obvious to anyone, he knew that. He wasn't ashamed. What was less obvious was how clearly Lyndon still loved him. Why they broke up, Alex still didn't entirely understand, though their camping trip the week previous might have given him a clue.

"Am I good?" Lyndon was asking as Alex half carried him out the front door. "Am... am I drunk?"

"Yeah.” The cool air was sobering, though Alex had had little to drink himself and there wasn't much hope for Lyndon but to sleep it off.

"Okay." Lyndon seemed to relax onto his shoulder, shifting more of his weight there and letting Alex lead him onto the street. "I'll be good."

"You're always good. Come on, one foot in front of the other."

After a few moments of uncertainty, Lyndon basically managed to follow instructions. Still, the hangover was going to be horrible.

“I thought you hated drinking.”

“I do,” Lyndon said. He'd started to shiver. “It's torture.”

Far be it for Lyndon to actually make sense. Alex focused instead on getting them down the street. It was dark out, the moon small in the sky and the streetlights flickering overhead. Lyndon walked mincingly, his feet bumping Alex's once, and twice, and a third time before he stumbled and Alex had to stop them before Lyndon went crashing to the ground.

He wasn't so much shivering as shaking, Alex realized once they'd stopped. His skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat despite the cool air that surrounded them.

"Are you going to be sick?" Alex looked around for a convenient ally. It was too suburban an area, nothing but rows of houses.

"Do you have anything to drink?" Lyndon asked.

"I think you've had enough."

"I just need to drink." Lyndon wobbled a single step forward. He looked confused by the lonely suburban street. He turned back to Alex. "Where did the bar go?"

Alex bit back a smile. "It stayed with the party."

“Oh.” 

Looking thoroughly defeated, Lyndon dropped to his knees on the pavement.

“Hey.” Alex quickly knelt beside him. He brushed a strand of blond hair off Lyndon's cheek. One of Lyndon hands rested on the pavement limply, his fingers flexing and his wrist up. The other pressed over the crotch of his jeans. Gently, Alex took his limp hand. "You okay?"

Perhaps Lyndon shook his head, or perhaps it was just a particularly strong shiver.

Alex squeezed his hand, feeling his heart squeeze in tandem. "How do I help you?"

"Vodka."

"I don't think that will help."

"I need to get very drunk." Lyndon's free hand, pressed hard to the front of his jeans, shifted and found its way up, fiddling with the metal button.

He needed to get so drunk he would piss himself, Lyndon had said earlier.

It sounded to Alex exactly like the terrible kind of plan Lyndon would come up with.

"No, you don't.”

Lyndon looked away. “You don’t know.”

“I think I do, though. I think you told me.”

He couldn’t be certain, but he thought Lyndon paled. The street lights painted him in washed out shades of grey. “I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

“You told me so I could help you. I helped you, didn’t I?” Alex was moving slowly, curving his body so he pressed up against Lyndon’s back, one hand coming to rest reassuringly on his shoulder. The other drifted towards Lyndon’s middle. “Did I, Lyn?”

“Yes.” For a moment, Lyndon sounded startlingly sober.

Alex’s hand came to rest on the slight curve he knew would be distending Lyndon’s lower stomach. It was still a shock to feel it. He curved his palm over the shape. Lyndon’s bladder felt like an over-inflated balloon ready to burst, but heavy, like a smooth stone. 

Lyndon moaned.

“I can help.” Alex pressed his thumb into the tight bladder.

Suddenly, Lyndon fell forward out of his grasp, balancing on the sidewalk with one hand and scrabbling frantically at his crotch with the other.

“Woah--”

“I can’t. I can’t!” Lyndon grappled at the button and zipper of his jeans.

"Uh, Lyn...?"

A moment later, Lyndon had his jeans open, soft white briefs revealed and then tugged violently down. Then he had his cock in his shaking hand, his shoulders tied into knots with tension, his weight leaned back on bouncing knees.

"Wow, ok." It wasn't as if Alex hadn't had that same cock in his mouth more than enough times to be comfortable with its sudden appearance, but he didn't think Lyndon would have revealed himself in the middle of the street like that if he hadn't spent all night trying to get drunk.

"I have to." Lyndon's hand moved up and down on the length of his cock, his fingers squeezing and releasing. "I have to, I _have_ to."

"Okay, okay." Alex glanced up the empty street as he shifted to block the view of Lyndon with his body. "You have to. Just... hurry up."

Lyndon nodded jerkily. His fingers tightened on his cock, and yes, he was going to piss right there. This was Alex's life, he thought faintly. Watching his ex piss in the middle of the sidewalk and feeling like this must be true love.

Alex waited for the flood.

and waited.

and waited

Lyndon crouched so far forward the tip of his dick brushed the concrete, a single drop of urine streaking the dry sidewalk. Alex winced, because that couldn't be comfortable.

Not that Lyndon had been comfortable in a very long time, Alex had to think.

"Here, I’ll help." Alex found himself reaching forward without permission. He stopped himself from grasping the pink length of Lyndon’s penis at the last moment, shoving his palm down onto the pavement instead. "I mean, let me help? Please."

Lyndon said like a sob "Fuck.”

"I know it’s weird." Alex's hand came around to rest on Lyndon's overfull bladder once more. He was careful not to press, but it didn't stop Lyndon's cock from jerking at the contact, a tiny drop of fluid forming at the tip. “It doesn’t have to be weird. Just let me do this for you.”

All the while he was talking, Alex’s thumb was stroking the shape of Lyndon’s bladder, pressing lines of heat across its distended shape and over the arced curve of it. He couldn’t feel the piss trapped inside, just Lyndon’s warm, achingly tight skin. 

“All right, Lyn?”

Lyndon swallowed, appeared ready to speak, then pressed his lips together and rocked himself forward, effectively shoving the full weight of Alex’s hand into his overfull bladder. 

The tiny trickle of pent up piss splashed between his bent legs.

Alex flexed his fingers and Lyndon lit out, a thick splash wetting the concrete. Alex marveled at how easy it had been, how strange it felt, like he had his hand on the controls to Lyndon's body. He only had to shift his palm to tease out the next jet of urine, Lyndon shaking under him.

He used his free hand to draw Lyndon up from his hunched shape on the sidewalk, nudging his knees at Lyndon's knees until his legs resembled a V. There was no way to get Lyndon to his feet, Alex could tell, and the lower half of his jeans would be soaked as a result, but it was a tiny sacrifice, and if Lyndon was too drunk to care that he'd gotten his dick out in the middle of the street, he was unlikely to care about the state of his jeans.

Alex slipped his hand up under Lyndon's shirt, murmuring soft apologies at the noise Lyndon made when he had to remove his hand from Lyndon’s bladder for a moment, as if the weight of it was comforting instead of the necessary torture it must have been. He felt Lyndon's skin prickle with the cold of his hand and pressed a kiss of apology to Lyndon's neck, only afterwards realizing--no.

Alex froze, and with a groan of frustration, Lyndon canted his hips forward, crushing his bladder into Alex's hand and prompting the release of the next splash of piss.

"I didn't mean..." Alex began to explain, his face warm. Perhaps it was strange that, feeling up Lyndon's bladder and looking down at his naked cock, it was a close-mouthed kiss that had Alex blushing.

"Just do it." Lyndon said, sounding breathless and pained. His body was pressed against Alex's hand insistently. "Just do something. Do anything."

'Anything' was certainly more than Alex thought Lyndon ought to give him permission to do, but he wasn't going to take advantage. He was, as he'd said, only going to help.

Alex didn't press his lips to Lyndon's skin this time, his eyes focused on the forming puddle as he felt the rounded shape of Lyndon's bladder. He circled his fingers over and around it, pressing into the side, pushing up with his palm, drawing splashes of desperately held urine out of it and onto the sidewalk between Lyndon's knees, which were growing wet.

Eventually, Alex worked his hand into a gentle rocking motion, pushing with his palm and then his fingers so consistently he almost had Lyndon pissing at full stream.

Lyndon’s head fell back on his shoulder, his lips parted to wet, gasping breaths, his cheeks pink and eyelashes dotted with tears. 

“Sweet thing,” Alex found himself murmuring. To his credit, he didn’t kiss those incredibly kissable lips. “Someone needs to take care of you.” 

He thought Lyndon might protest, but when he pressed harder on his bladder, words were torn from Lyndon’s lips in a soundless gasp and all he could do was melt into Alex’s arms as Alex teased the last splashes of piss from him.

The knelt in a massive puddle, Lyndon’s jeans wet from his knees all the way down. Glancing down the street again, blessedly empty, Alex tugged and held and coddled until he had Lyndon standing, leaning into a sweaty embrace.

“Thank you.” Lyndon seemed to be biting back tears, his eyelashes wet and his voice tight and thin.

Alex’s own chest felt thick with unshed tears. _Someone needs to take care of you_ , he wanted to say. _Let me take care of you_ , he wanted to say.

“Let me take you home,” he said.

“I want to lie down,” Lyndon said, his weight growing heavier.

Alex caught him before he could slump to the wet pavement once more. “Hey. Hey, no. Home. Remember home?”

“Vaguely.” Lyndon rested his head on Alex’s shoulder.

“You should go there. Then you can lie down.”

Lyndon made no effort to move. “I don’t feel right.”

“Yeah, you’re soaked and--actually, now would be a good time to put your cock away.”

Lyndon hummed as if to agree. He didn’t move an inch. 

With a fond roll of the eyes, Alex got down to the delicate business of tucking and zipping him away. That was how it was going to be, then. He wasn’t going to complain. “I’ll carry you.”

Lyndon slung his arms around Alex’s neck agreeably. 

After a few moments of awkward kneeling and shifting, in which Lyndon did absolutely nothing to help, Alex had Lyndon slung over his back piggyback style.

He moved forward precariously, wary of Lyndon simply dropping off, but his ex was clinging to him like there was nothing else in his world, his face tucked into Alex’s shoulder. Alex felt helplessly fond.

“I’ll do that for you anytime,” he found himself saying.

Lyndon huffed into his neck.

“I can take care of this. If you let me. If you need me. I mean that.”

After a few moments of silent movement, Lyndon pressed a kiss into the space between his shoulder and throat. 

Alex nearly sent them both sprawling to the ground. He tried to bite back on the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He put one foot in front of the other and thought about home. Lyndon’s home, that was. 

He carried them to Lyndon’s apartment in silence, ignoring the looks of the few people they passed. By the time they reached Lyndon’s home, he was almost asleep, just barely managing to hold on to Alex’s back. Alex took the familiar squeaky elevator up to the familiar hallway and unlocked the door with the very familiar key Lyndon had never asked him to give back. 

Inside, there wasn’t time to reminisce about how achingly familiar everything was, because Lyndon’s grip loosened and slipped he off Alex’s back with a thump.

He blinked up at Alex from the ground, wide-eyed in his drunken exhaustion.

“Hey.” Lyndon tried, clearly confused. 

Alex didn’t bother suppressing his fondness this time. “Hey, you drunk. We’re home.”

Lyndon looked like something precious and pathetic, his hair rumpled from hands pulled through it, his shirt ruffled and his jeans wet from the knee down. It made Alex’s heart hurt.

Lyndon needed to be taken care of, was all. There was no reason for Alex’s heart to be tearing itself apart, no reason for his stomach to feel like it was cannibalizing itself, no reason for the dream-like numbness of his hands when he put them on Lyndon’s waist.

“Come on,” if the words came out a little choked, Lyndon was in no state to criticize him. “I’m putting you to bed.”

He guided Lyndon into his bedroom and settled him on the edge of the bed. He set to work on the metal button of Lyndon’s fly, careful of the tender bladder underneath. Lyndon moaned when Alex had to press down to unbutton his jeans anyway, like the ghost of his desperation still ached. After unlacing Lyndon’s shoes and removing his socks, the tight jeans peeled away from his wet calves, and Alex shucked them aside to set in on Lyndon’s overly complicated shirt. He undid each tiny shell-like button up the front of the white linen shirt with large, careful hands.

Leaving Lyndon stripped bare, Alex took the damp jeans into the adjoining bathroom and wet a warm washcloth at the sink, returning to Lyndon curled up on his side, the fingers of his right hand hooked over his face as if to hide. The way Lyndon’s chest moved with drowsy breaths was momentarily mesmerizing.

Alex earned himself a moan of protest with the first soft stroke of the washcloth. 

“Poor, sweet thing,” Alex crooned, banking heavily on the likelihood that Lyndon wouldn’t remember this in the morning. “Just a little longer; then you can sleep.” 

As Alex stroked the wet cloth over Lyndon’s calf, a snaking arm came out and tugged him in. “Stay.”

Regrettably, Alex unwound the arm. “You can’t sleep alone while you’re drunk. I’ll leave in the morning.”

“Stay in the morning.”

Alex smiled sadly. Then he folded the blanket from the opposite side of the bed, wrapping Lyndon up like a taco. “Sleep.”

Lyndon was already most of the way there. He yawned, stretched, curled up impossibly tightly, and fell asleep with a corner of the blanket tucked in his mouth, fingers curled around the edges. 

Alex dropped into the chair across from the bed, toed off his shoes, and watched Lyndon breathe with the dim sound of the television murmuring to itself in the background. 

There was a mystery inside of the thing that had broken Alex's heart. Alex wanted to dig it out. He wanted to unwedge the pieces of it from the torn steel of Lyndon's self-control. He wanted to collect the shards and form them in his hands like dough. He wanted to make something new with them. He wanted his heart back and whole.

He wanted Lyndon back. He wanted Lyndon back sober and steady.

With the morning light, Alex left while Lyndon still slept. But Lyndon came to him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All things going well, I expect this story to be complete in three chapters. There is a tiny bit of plot-shaped relationship thing in there with the kink this time.


	2. Chapter 2

From: Lyndon  
You didn’t stay

Alex looked up from the blue light of his computer screen when his phone vibrated on the desk.

He’d left Lyndon sleeping in his apartment before dawn, but his mind hadn’t been swayed. Currently, Alex was looking at a white ceramic chamber pot online and thinking it might be a welcome addition to Lyndon’s life.

He picked up the phone.

To: Lyndon  
Drunk you makes poor choices

To: Lyndon  
For example: I’m going to get so drunk I piss myself.

It took so long from Lyndon to reply to that, Alex thought he wasn’t going to. 

From: Lyndon  
You didn’t have to help me. I’m not your boyfriend anymore.

Alex rolled his eyes, tapping anyway with more force than necessary.

To: Lyndon  
You broke up with me. Fine.

To: Lyndon  
I didn’t actually stop loving you.

To: Lyndon  
Besides, I wanted to help you. I still want to.

From: Lyndon  
I don’t understand

To: Lyndon  
How do you feel about chamber pots?

From: Lyndon  
Mildly terrified?

To: Lyndon  
Noted

From: Lyndon  
What?

From: Lyndon  
Alex

From: Lyndon  
You’re not a poor decision.

Alex bookmarked the chamber pot online and turned away from the laptop, smiling as he looked down at his phone.

To: Lyndon  
I know that

To: Lyndon  
I’m good for you

From: Lyndon  
You’re too good for me.

To: Lyndon  
You weren’t hugged enough as a child. Do you want me to come over? I’ll bring hugs.

Predictably, Alex killed the conversation with that. Lyndon never replied. 

In truth, Alex knew he wasn’t a poor choice. It wasn’t why he had left Lyndon sleeping alone. He’d left because he needed Lyndon to choose him sober. He needed Lyndon to choose something that was good for him, to choose to be helped, to choose _hugs_.

He didn’t know if that would ever happen.

\-----

From: Lyndon  
I need you

Alex stood dumbstruck in the middle of the campus parking lot. The sunset following his last class of the day was bright and pink in the sky above. He’d been about to jump into his car when he’d felt his phone vibrate. He could count on one hand the number of times Lyndon had admitted to needing anything.

He fumbled with his phone.

To: Lyndon  
Anything. Where and what?

From: Lyndon  
University Circle. Don’t laugh.

Alex slammed his car door closed, shoved his phone into his pocket, and took off for the central campus at a run. He almost ran right past Lyndon, hunched as he was on the sidewalk, his back to a brick building and his arms hooked around his knees. Alex swerved and came to stand over him, leaning against the building with one hand. He looked down at Lyndon’s blond head as he caught his breath.

Lyndon glanced up at him, a self-deprecating little smile tugging at his lips. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Alex breathed. He needed to stop by the gym more often. “Hello, hi. How are you? Don’t answer that, you look awful.”

Lyndon not only looked awful, he looked like he felt awful. His skin was waxy and pale, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his hair somehow depressed looking. It looked like he’d been tugging his fingers through it, which he did while Alex watched him.

“I. You helped me. Twice,” Lyndon said, taking time to find each word.

“And I said I would again,” Alex added immediately. Lyndon just looked at him. “Of course I’ll help.”

It was pretty obvious what Lyndon needed. Alex knew Lyndon’s class schedule was the same as his own on Mondays, though they shared no classes that day: morning to evening. And so Lyndon had been on campus, from that morning to that moment, and now he was desperate.

And apparently this was a thing they did now.

Alex offered Lyndon his hand. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Lyndon took it. Alex tugged him to his feet, letting Lyndon lean into him as he found his footing. 

He pressed his hand to the small of Lyndon’s back, trying to set a pace that was steady but quick, and said “Bathroom by the campus market.”

“I can’t,” Lyndon moved towards their destination on shaky legs despite his protest. He looked at Alex out of the corner of his eye, biting his lip. “I don’t even know why I texted you. I know that I can’t.”

“Yesterday you pissed on a stranger’s front lawn,” Alex reminded him in a quiet undertone. Lyndon flinched. “Let’s try something a little more conventional.”

Lyndon opened his mouth to respond, but the door to the bathroom came into sight and he was flinching again, stopping so suddenly Alex’s momentum almost sent him crashing to the ground. They stumbled and managed to keep their footing, just barely. 

“I don’t ever… in public…”

Alex brought his hand around to Lyndon’s front and pressed pointedly on his bladder. It was predictably swollen, an unnatural bulge in his abdomen. Because Lyndon didn’t ever in public. Which meant Lyndon was desperate, all the time.

Lyndon bit his tongue and didn’t make a sound, but his eyes were watering. 

“You want to piss?” Alex asked, not without kindness.

Lyndon’s head bobbed up and down.

“Good. You get to.” 

They pushed through the bathroom door. The stalls were empty, and only one of the urinals was occupied by a student. When Alex pointedly pressed Lyndon into a stall and slammed the door behind them, said student exited the bathroom in record time.

Lyndon seemed to be having a minor crisis at the sight of the toilet. His legs tangled together like a pretzel, and it was impossible to push him any further towards the toilet. Instead, Lyndon doubled over, his hands disappearing into his lap as his breathing became loud and quick. His thighs shifted, rubbing together as his legs began to shake. 

“Lyndon...”

“You hate me,” Lyndon managed between quick breaths. “I told you I can’t in public and you took me here anyway and you hate me.”

“Lyn.”

“I want a ride home.” Lyndon said, because apparently he was insane. “It’s too far and I want a ride.”

“I’ll drive you home after you’ve had your pee.” Alex tried to press Lyndon a few inches closer to the toilet. 

“I want a ride home now.” Lyndon’s weight shifted from foot to foot. “I can go at home. I can, usually.”

“Usually,” Alex repeated, a little dumbstruck. He nudged Lyndon closer to the toilet again. “As… comforting as that is, I think you need to go now. Like, right now, before you piss yourself.”

"I can control myself!" 

“That’s what worries me.” 

Determining that Lyndon was within a reasonable distance of the toilet, Alex gave up on trying to make him move and instead focused on trying to get him to piss, here and not at home, or more likely in the parking lot between the bathroom and his car.

Hooking both arms over Lyndon’s hips, he placed his big hands on Lyndon’s full bladder. The abnormal bump of piss held too long was becoming familiar in Lyndon’s lower stomach. Alex cupped his hands and pressed down, drumming his fingers over tight skin and cotton shirt. He drew a thready moan from Lyndon. 

"You're going to wet yourself if you don't get it out."

“I’m not.” But Lyndon was reaching for his fly and yanking down his zipper with shaking hands.

As soon as Lyndon had himself out, a spurt of piss hit the toilet bowl. Lyndon gasped, tensing and moving as if to rear back, but Alex was standing behind him and simply took his weight, keeping his hands on Lyndon’s bladder. 

“That’s good.” He pressed down on the bulge in Lyndon’s abdomen, the physical manifestation of his obvious need, and earned himself another spurt of urine, just as quick and just as short as Lyndon tensed even further. “Relax.”

“Can’t,” Lyndon choked out. 

That, Alex didn’t doubt. He took one hand off Lyndon bladder so he could massage his neck, which had gone tense with stress. 

Behind them, the door creaked and footsteps seemed to echo as someone entered the bathroom.

Both of them stood very still at the sound of a fly being unzipped. Then, a sigh, and the sound of liquid flowing filled the room.

In Alex’s arms, Lyndon was shaking. His whole body was a mess of tension. Urine beaded on the tip of his cock, held too tightly in his hand, and dripped in a ridiculously tiny leak onto the linoleum floor. Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved, as the sound of a steady stream tapered off, and then the tap came on. Lyndon shuddered in his arms. The piss collecting on his urethra became a tiny spurt at the sound, trickling onto the floor instead of into the toilet. He bit his lip and threw his head back on Alex’s shoulder.

As soon as the unintentional interloper exited the bathroom, Alex let out a sigh. One of the fifty knots of tension in Lyndon’s shoulders might have loosened, but only that. Alex dropped his hand from Lyndon’s neck to brush his knuckles where Lyndon’s hand was curled tightly around his cock.

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Let me.”

A pause, and then Lyndon let himself go, reaching up instead to clutch just as painfully tightly at Alex’s bicep. Alex winced and manfully didn’t comment. Instead, he curled his hand around Lyndon’s cock, gently aiming the poor, abused organ at the toilet. The he pressed his palm into Lyndon’s overfull bladder.

The spurt was longer this time and Alex was able to aim. The sound of urine hitting water had Lyndon freezing up, a shiver running all down his spine. Alex just kept pressing, kneading and palpating the round shape of his bladder until the drips became trickles, and those became torrential, if short, streams.

Just as Lyndon’s bladder had begun to wane, Lyndon asked shakily, “Can we stop?”

Surprised, Alex lifted his hand, aware that there was still a noticeable, though smaller, bump there. “You want to stop?”

Lyndon nodded mutely. He released Alex’s bruised bicep to wipe at his face. Alex hadn’t realized he was crying.

“I can hold it now,” Lyndon said, swiping angrily at his eyes. “I’m… you helped.”

Not enough, Alex thought as he drew back, allowing Lyndon to tuck himself back into his jeans. Not nearly enough. He wanted Lyndon to be so comfortable he went limp in Alex’s embrace. He wanted Lyndon to throw his head back and collapse into him. He wanted to hold Lyndon as he let go and, and... and none of this was about what he wanted.

Lyndon noticed Alex’s skeptical look when he turned around and he shrugged, his cheeks pink and his eyes slightly rimmed in red. 

“You did help. I just. I don’t do this and I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You did good,” Alex said, touching his hair gently. “You’re overwhelmed. Let me drive you home.”

Lyndon glanced away as if searching for some privacy in the intimately close space of the stall. “I can walk.”

“You said you couldn’t, actually, and I agreed to give you a ride.”

“I was babbling.” Lyndon wrinkled his nose. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I want to.”

“You…” Lyndon breathed out, looking at Alex with those perceptive blue eyes that clearly saw so little just then. “You want what?”

“To help you.” Alex grinned and didn’t kiss him, because that wasn’t a thing they did anymore, but this was, so he reached past Lyndon and flushed the toilet. “However you need it.” 

“You can't honestly…” 

“ _However_ you need it.” 

\-----

Now that he knew, he noticed it all the time. Lyndon never sat still. He squirmed more in the evenings than in the mornings. He went pale at the sound of water. He went pink when he glanced surreptitiously at the doorways to public restrooms. His legs were always moving, tapping under the desk in class, his knees coming together and apart, his fingers squeezing on the desk edge and easing up, his hips shifting from side to side. He sat with his legs clamped together, one hand on his thigh and not an inch closer to his crotch, never so obvious. It was obvious to Alex now.

He’d never just been able to lay still after they’d had sex. Alex remembered clearly and understood in an entirely different light. It hurt that he hadn’t understood before. Lyndon was always tossing and turning, rolling into a cuddle and right back out of it, tangling his legs in the sheets so they knotted up. Alex had tried to lie on top of him once, covering Lyndon in the warmth and weight of his sweat covered body, but even then Lyndon had managed to squirm.

All that was in the past, but somehow Alex found himself seated under a desk anyway, the cold of the linoleum floor seeping through his jeans, his cheek resting against Lyndon's shaking knee.

The knee jerked up suddenly, banging the underside of the desk. Alex bent his arm around to grasp Lyndon thigh, stroking his thumb over tight jeans in what he hoped was a comforting motion. 

They were alone in their college classroom, the room having emptied out minutes earlier with Lyndon stuck in his spot, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Knowing what he did, it had started to bother Alex how often he saw Lyndon uncomfortable in class. What he'd once attributed to constant restlessness, Alex now recognized as Lyndon growing more and more desperate to relieve himself. 

He recognized Lyndon's discomfort, and he didn't like it. So Alex had hung around until their professor had left them alone, and then, smiling, he'd let Lyndon see the empty water bottle he'd procured from his backpack before he uncapped it and slipped under Lyndon's desk. 

Had circumstances been different…

Hell, circumstances be damned. Alex was half hard in his jeans. He'd always wanted to suck Lyn off at school. 

This just… wasn't that. 

He tried to tell himself that as he unzipped Lyndon's jeans. He kept one hand on Lyndon's knee, steadying it as he worked Lyndon's fly open. Lyndon made a frantic, desperate little sound when Alex popped his button. Then there was only a layer of thin cotton between him and Lyndon’s cock. 

Alex breathed out and Lyndon jerked as if electrocuted. Then Lyndon's hand was under the desk, his fingers curled into Alex's hair. 

“If you try to blow me right now, I will pee in your mouth.”

“You keep talking like I expect some friends with benefits crap from you. I don't.”

Lyndon's legs shifted under the table, his sneakers sliding along the smooth floor until his knees were wide and his crotch dangerously close to Alex's face. 

Alex swallowed, blinking. “Wait, do you _want_ some friends with benefits crap?”

“You crawled under my desk. You're grinning. You crawled under my desk _while_ grinning. What am I supposed to think?”

“That I'm gonna help you.” Alex let the ‘duh’ hang in their air, rolling his eyes though Lyndon couldn't see him. “Say something if you want me to stop.” 

Dead silence followed. Alex grinned a little wider. 

Despite the distinct tapping of Lyndon's feet and the minute shift of his hips every few seconds, his underwear were dry. Alex freed his cock, holding the empty bottle in his other hand. He pressed the mouth of the bottle to the head of Lyndon's cock. 

Lyndon jumped, both knees hitting the desk at once. 

“I’ve got you.” 

“You're fucking with me.” The fingers in Alex's hair squeezed. 

“You can go.”

“Here?” Lyndon sounded scandalized. “I cannot!”

“Yeah?” One hand supporting the bottle, Alex let his other hand come up to press on Lyndon's bladder. “Bet you can.”

“Someone is going to walk in.”

“That'd be awkward.” Alex smiled into Lyndon's knee. “You better hurry up, then.”

“Alex! I can--”

“You can wait,” Alex said, the smile slipping from his lips and out of his voice. “You wait through lecture. You wait after class. You wait on the walk back home. You wait too long.”

“I don’t. I’m fine.”

The fingers clamped in Alex's hair and the inviting spread of Lyndon's legs would have said otherwise, if his constant squirming hadn't already. A single drop of liquid was forming on his glans.

Alex pressed his hand down and felt the shape of Lyndon's bladder, hard and full but not nearly as distended as it had been when he'd last done this. Lyndon was desperate, that was obvious, but he was also capable of holding back longer than this. He wasn't going to piss himself if Alex didn't help him. He would just wait, ignoring the discomfort, ignoring his body until it gave in or he did. 

Unless Alex did something now. 

“You don't have to wait.” He drew his fingers over the shape of Lyndon's bladder, drawing out a shiver and a insignificant splatter into the waiting bottle. “Come on, I know you're dying to go.”

“You're the worst.” Lyndon released Alex's hair to grip his cock, squeezing fretfully. “You’re--oh god.”

Just as Lyndon spoke, a torrent splashed into the bottle, making his cock jump with the force of it. Alex managed to keep the bottle in place, neatly capturing the stream. 

“See?” Alex leaned off his bladder for a moment as the stream cut off. “It won't make a mess. I’m taking care of everything. Just let go.”

Lyndon made a sound like a sob. When Alex pressed on his bladder, the second torrent came readily. It filled the bottle to the quarter mark.

“The...the bottle…” Lyndon said. 

“I'll tell you when to stop,” Alex promised him. 

In stops and starts, the bottle began to fill. Lyndon leaked every time Alex stroked his bladder, filling the bottle little by little. When they reached half full, he began to piss in earnest, the shortened torrents breaking into a full on stream. The bottle grew heavy and surprisingly warm. Lyndon made a sound like a bit-off moan. 

“Stop.” Hot urine filled the bottle from its bottom to its tapered top. Alex moved his hand off Lyndon's bladder. As soon as he'd spoken, Lyndon had stopped mid-stream. He realized, belatedly, that he should have brought a second bottle. He hadn't exactly been planning, but maybe he ought to start. Lyndon wasn't going to get any less stubborn. 

As Alex twisted the cap on the bottle, Lyndon's fingers grappled at his crotch, pulling the underwear up and zipping himself back in. 

Alex drew up from under the table, feeling strangely vulnerable when he met Lyndon's eyes for the first time since they'd spoken. “It's full, sorry.”

“It's fine.” Lyndon bit his lip and shifted his hips, seeming to settle into this new, lesser need. “It’s good.”

“Feel good?” Alex asked.

Lyndon just blushed, which Alex took as a yes.

“I’ll bring a second bottle next time,” Alex said before he walked out, feeling Lyndon’s eyes burning on his back the whole way.

\-----

After that, it became a kind of ritual.

Alex watched Lyndon--if he was honest, he’d always watched Lyndon, even before he’d had the excuse of watching over him. So Alex watched him on campus, watched him at parties in the evening and at the bars at night. He watched and he inserted himself at the right moments to help, because God did Lyndon need help, and God did Alex want to be there for him.

On a cool night out after midterms, Alex was hyper aware of Lyndon across the bar with Elaine and her friends. He watched as Lyndon talked, smiled, and sipped from a drink that looked like it had a ridiculous name. He watched as Lyndon crossed his legs at the thigh as he stood, as he leaned forward at the waist as if to listen more closely to the woman he was talking to. He watched as Lyndon finished the drink, and rejected the next round, his hands buried deep in his jean pockets.

He watched, and then Lyndon was watching him back.

Alex sipped from his beer and tilted his head towards the doorway meaningfully.

Blue eyes widened. Instantly, Lyndon was making some excuses to his friends, and then he was maneuvering through the crowd and out the door into the alleyway, his thighs brushing as he moved.

Abandoning his drink on the bar, Alex followed. In the alley, sparsely lit by the ambient light of a distant streetlight, Lyndon was already unzipping his black jeans with shaking hands.

Alex paused in the doorway and stared.

“Help me,” Lyndon said, and before Alex could do anything to help, Lyndon’s composure was shattering and he looked ready to sink to his knees and beg. “I’m desperate. I can’t stand it. I’ll do anything. Just help me.”

“Come here.” Alex drew forward and met Lyndon’s tense body. Lyndon practically fell into his arms.

It should have been strange or at least awkward, but Alex knew exactly what Lyndon was asking. He would have know from Lyndon’s stance and the look on his face even if Lyndon hadn’t already pulled himself out of his jeans. It should have been awkward but somehow it only felt intimate as Alex wound his arms around Lyndon’s shaking frame and found the swell of his bladder, constantly overfull.

Lyndon let out a strangled moan and hitched his hips back, into Alex’s, nearly overbalancing them both.

“There’s nothing here,” Lyndon’s shaky voice came. “There’s nothing to…”

“I left my glass inside.” Alex hovered his palm over Lyndon’s lower stomach. “You’re just going to have to piss on the ground. Not like it hasn’t been done before.”

“I don’t want to be gross.”

“You’re really not.” Alex pressed his hand down.

“Alex!" Lyndon gasped, twisting to tangle his legs together but thwarted when Alex kicked his feet wide. "Alex! I'm going to--"

"You're going to pee. I know." It still felt raw and intimate, touching Lyndon where he was overly sensitive, exerting just the right amount of pressure to--

Urine splashed the concrete between their legs.

"Good." Alex adjusted his palm so he was rubbing in soothing circles, careful not to let up the pressure at all. "Go on. On the floor. You can do it. No one's going to see."

No one except Alex, anyway. Alex kept his hand pressing mercilessly over Lyndon’s swollen bladder, waiting for the sound that would tell him Lyndon was giving in.

Three breaths passed in silence between them but no stream came. Alex didn't know how Lyndon could stand it, but then he didn’t know that most of the time. He could feel how full Lyndon was, throbbing away under his palm. He dug the heel of his hand in.

That did it. A pattering came from between Lyndon's legs. It stopped almost immediately.

"You can go," Alex soothed again.

"I don’t think I can." Lyndon hips shifted left to right, having the unintended effect of grinding against Alex’s crotch.

Alex dropped his hand from Lyndon’s bladder to grab him by the hips. “Hey.”

“I can’t help it.” Lyndon’s hips tried to shimmy even as Alex held him still. He lifted his foot and stomped in frustrated need. 

They were both so caught up in Lyndon’s desperation, neither of them heard footsteps, and it was only the tipsy laugh of a stranger that had Alex moving before someone rounded the corner. He spun and shoved Lyndon up against the wall, covering Lyndon’s body with his own.

Instead of disappearing into the bar’s back door, the shadow of a stranger paused where the alley opened onto the street, giving them only a cursory glance before lighting a cigarette. The stranger leaned back against the wall.

Alex let out a sigh and dropped his head onto Lyndon’s shoulder. Fucking perfect. 

Warmth bloomed in a wet spot on his thigh. Lyndon’s cock was nestled between their bodies. The wet head of his cock brushed Alex’s jeans. He was leaking.

Looking up, Lyndon was bright pink, the corners of his mouth and eyes lined with tension. He looked about to break.

“I thought you couldn’t!” Alex hissed.

Lyndon squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry. I’m trying not to.”

Alex sighed and reconsidered. “Oh, fuck it, go ahead.”

Blue eyes snapping back open, Lyndon stared at him with parted lips.

“They’re not even my good jeans,” Alex muttered, curling one hand over Lyndon's hip. “I don’t really care. Piss as much as you need to.” 

Which clearly was a good deal, if Lyndon was leaking without Alex applying any pressure to his bladder. It was probably a good thing, Alex decided as he turned the idea over in his head. If Lyndon could piss in public without Alex pommeling his bladder, maybe that was progress. 

Or maybe it was just sheer desperation, because the next moment had a second, larger spot blooming beside the first on Alex’s thigh, and Lyndon gasped like he hadn’t expected it anymore than Alex had.

“It’s okay,” Alex repeated, seeing the panic in Lyndon’s eyes. “You have my permission.”

“I’m going to piss on you,” Lyndon said, his tone a mixture of warning and sheer terror.

“You already are. It’s okay with me.”

Lyndon whimpered and a stream spread down Alex’s thigh and to his knee. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to.”

“I said it’s okay, Lyn. You’re okay.” 

“You’ll get wet.”

“I will.” Alex slipped one hand between their bodies, unable to get a proper grip since they were pressed so tightly together. Instead, he brushed his knuckles over Lyndon’s bladder. 

Pressed against the brick wall with nowhere to go, Lyndon squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Sweet thing,” Alex murmured.

Lyndon stomped on his foot.

“Jesus!” 

Glancing over his shoulder, the shadow by the road was still there, puffing away on a cigarette as if they had all the time in the world. Alex grumbled but didn’t withdraw from Lyndon. He wasn’t going to give whoever it was an eyeful. This was only for Alex. 

“I said you could piss on me, not pommel me.”

“Why would you let me…?” Lyndon struggled for words, breathing fast and his hips still moving, almost grinding into Alex’s thighs.

There were too many reasons, and perhaps too few, to truly answer Lyndon’s question. Why would he? Lyndon thought he was gross to piss on the floor, and Alex was inviting him to wet his own jeans. There didn’t seem to be any way to make sense of that. 

So instead, Alex wiggled his fingers between their bodies. The slightest pressure set Lyndon off again, and wet warmth streaked down Alex’s leg.

“Oh--” Lyndon let go of a moan, burying his mouth in Alex’s shoulder to quiet himself. 

Lyndon’s right ear was dangerously close to Alex’s mouth. Alex wanted to kiss him there, but instead he spoke softly into it, “You have to pee so bad. Let go, Lyn.”

“Don’t,” Lyndon moaned, his hips shifting against Alex’s.

“I’m telling you it’s all right.” Without the benefit of the purely physical pressure of his hands on Lyndon’s bladder, Alex had to get creative. He could do that, he found. He could do that rather easily. “You have permission. It’s all alright. Do you think you can’t go? I’m telling you, you can.”

A stream soaked over Alex’s cooling thigh, warming his skin and sending a shiver up his spine. Success. 

He kept murmuring encouragements, teasing Lyndon’s bladder with his fingers in what little space he had between their bodies the whole time.

“I want you to be comfortable. Just relax and be comfortable.” A stream over his knee. “Let go. It’ll feel so good. You’ll feel so much better.” A steady trickle now, fully covering the previous streams in a fresh, warm wet. “That’s right. Does it feel good?”

Shockingly, Lyndon nodded.

“Good,” Alex repeated, feeling his heart squeeze. He was making Lyndon _feel better_. He was fucking amazing.

Alex kept up a steady stream of soothing words and encouragement, unselfconscious in the face of Lyndon’s sheer relief. By then, urine was pouring out of Lyndon and Alex had no idea if he’d stop in the absence of Alex’s encouragement, but he didn’t want to find out. He kept talking until his mouth was dry and his jeans utterly soaked. 

By the time Lyndon was sinking into his arms in abject relief, the shadow by the road was long gone, but neither of them noticed. 

\-----

“For a guy you’re not dating, I’ve sure been touching your dick a lot,” Alex said.

Lyndon rested his forehead on Alex’s shoulder. He was breathing hard, warm puffs of air brushing Alex’s skin. He didn’t say anything.

Admittedly, ‘so we should date, to like, fix that’ wasn't the soundest logic Alex had ever tried on him.

“Is it too strange?” Lyndon asked, his voice quiet and serious.

“Nah.” Alex moved his hand between them to zip up Lyndon’s jeans, careful of the metal teeth near the damp spotted briefs. “It’s what you need.”

“But that’s strange.” Lyndon’s tone brooked no argument. “What I need is strange.”

“What you need--” Alex leaned in, their lips close, so easy to push the intimacy of these encounters “--is _me_.”

\-----

He never made Lyndon wait. He caught Lyndon's eye across a bustling party, through the glass of the campus study room, across a crowd in the local mall, two seats over in the train over spring break, and he didn’t make Lyndon wait. He excused himself, he silently stood, he dropped whatever he’d been doing, and he went to Lyndon, following him into a public restroom or a secluded alley or creating space between them in the middle of a park, his coat wrapped around both their bodies like it was just the cold that had Lyndon trembling.

Lyndon needed it all the time.

Lyndon needed _him_ all the time.

Lyndon might not have been able to say that he loved Alex, but his body was saying it every time he could let himself go when Alex helped him.

Lyndon’s body loved him.

Alex made the mistake of mentioning that particular thought to Elaine and got a twenty minute lecture on the nature of consent.

“I swear to God,” Elaine seethed. “I will not have that particular kind of ignorance in my company--or in Lyndon’s, for that matter, or in _yours_. You know I love you. And I know you love Lyndon. But do not fucking tell me--”

“I swear I didn’t mean it like that.” Alex ducked his head and did his best to look suitably told off, which he was.

“How many ways can a person’s body love you, exactly?” Elaine folded her arms.

“It’s complicated.”

“Don’t give me shit.”

“I’m not! You know I’m not doing anything he doesn’t want, or need.”

“Fuck what he needs!”

Alex drew back, surprised. Elaine was practically frothing at the mouth.

“Fuck what he wants. This is about consent. If you don’t have his explicit, enthusiastic consent, you don’t lay a finger on him. I don’t care how much you love him, or think you do--”

“Of course I love him."

“Then talk to him!”

“Okay.” Alex put his hands up, surrendering to Elaine’s outrage, feeling the sinking in his stomach already. “Okay. Fuck. Okay.”

\-----

The next time Lyndon came to him, Alex kept his fingers to himself.

“Is this what you want?” Alex asked.

“What?” Lyndon whispered, his features strained. They stood in the back garden of a classmate’s house-party, far enough into the trees that Alex didn’t think they could be seen from the house, but unfortunately not far enough from the decorative fountain that they couldn’t both still hear it, which had Lyndon writhing and frantic. 

“Is this, uh, okay?”

Lyndon looked lost. He nudged further into Alex’s space, like maybe his body language hadn’t been clear enough in how much he needed relied right then. But it was, it had been. It was only…

“I just want to make sure that this is okay. That you’re okay with me… doing this.”

A spasm flared through Lyndon’s fingers and his face scrunched up, his eyes squeezed tight. His hips canted pleadingly towards Alex, who didn’t move to free him.

“Lyn.”

“What are you talking about?” Lyndon asked through clenched teeth. His fingers flexed. He bobbed forward slightly. “Just… help. You always help.”

“Right. And about that…”

Panic began to register on Lyndon’s face at the same moment Alex realized now, when Lyndon was desperate, wasn’t necessarily the best time for this talk.

“You always help me.” Lyndon said a bit more loudly than necessary.

“No, I know. Don’t look like that. I will help.”

“You help!” Lyndon’s eyes were wide and alarmed, like he wasn’t quite hearing Alex. “You’re supposed to help. I can’t… I need you.”

“Okay, see, that’s good,” Alex soothed, desperately trying to save the situation. “That’s what I need to hear, okay? I just need to hear that this is all okay with you.”

Between their bodies, Alex’s hands were hovering uselessly, not quite willing to touch yet and not quite willing to keep to himself. Lyndon watched, his body rocking back and forth as he rolled from his toes to his heels. There was desperation in his eyes, but also hurt. “You’re _teasing_ me.”

“No, Lyn.”

“You’re not going to help.” Lyndon’s breathing was coming harder and faster, his rocking picking up along with it. “Please don’t tease me. I can’t take it.”

“I wouldn’t tease you,” Alex promised. “I’m going to help you. I just need to hear… I don’t know what I need to hear. Fuck.”

Lyndon’s lips moved wordlessly. His rocking stopped abruptly, his cheeks tinged violently pink. When Alex glanced down, he could see the quarter size wet spot blooming beside Lyndon’s fly. In Lyndon’s eyes, there was only need. He was too desperate to understand.

Alex was going to make Lyndon piss himself. He was an idiot, and he was going to make the man he loved wet his pants in broad daylight because he couldn’t make him understand, because he’d never asked before, because he’d assumed Lyndon’s body could do the talking for them.

Lyndon made a low, animal sound, his hand coming to rub obscenely over the wet spot on his crotch.

Alex reached for him unthinkingly, carefully placing his hands on Lyndon’s waist. He knew there was a bulge in Lyndon's belly, distended with too much piss for his skinny body. He was careful not to press there now.

“Just tell me what you need.”

Lyndon shook his head. “I need to pee.”

“Ask me, Lyndon.”

Lyndon stared uncomprehendingly.

“I’ll say yes.” 

“Let me… please don’t tease, I can’t.” Lyndon’s voice came out in something close to a sob. His eyelashes glittered in the sunlight. The spot on his crotch glistened and bloomed into something larger.

“Just ask me for what you want, Lyndon. Please.”

Finally, Lyndon released in a gush of words: “I want to pee. I just want to pee. Please? I need you. You help me. I need you to help me. I have to pee _so bad_ , Alex, please.”

He couldn’t ask for anything more. Alex’s hands flew to Lyndon’s crotch, unzipping and untucking, taking the damp, warm length of his cock in his hand. Lyndon babbled more pleas into his shoulder. A stream of piss wet his boots, then the ground between them. Alex shifted him, cradling his cock and pressing a big hand over his distended bladder.

With a sob, piss splattered the ground between them. It gushed out in an uncontrolled flood. Alex had no idea whether Lyndon had allowed himself relief or simply lost control of himself at that very moment. He suspected the latter. A puddle spread around their feet.

As his bladder released, Lyndon began to collapse into him, his tense shoulders loosening, his distended bladder retracting, his eyes slipping closed. He leaned into Alex and sprayed the ground until there was nothing left in him. Then he stood there, practically limp in Alex’s arms as Alex tucked him back into his damp jeans and whispered apologies.

“I don’t understand.” Lyndon said into his shoulder. He sounded unusually young. Alex rested his chin on his head and murmured another apology. “You want me to beg?”

Lyndon sounded broken--he sounded like he _would_ , if Alex said that was what he wanted now. He looked like he’d take anything from Alex right then, and it threw Alex for a loop, because usually it was him in that position--him desperate for any hint of Lyndon’s attention. He’d been so busy providing what Lyndon needed without question, so pleased that Lyndon needed him, that he’d never wondered what Lyndon might feel like, needing so much from Alex.

“I fucked this up, Lyn. You don’t even need to ask me. It’s already a sure thing. Anything you need from me, the answer is yes. You know that.”

“I thought I did,” Lyndon murmured, his voice uncertain.

“I just need to hear that you _want_ me to help you. To touch you. That I’m not… violating your space when you’re vulnerable.”

“Violating…?”

Alex shrugged. “Elaine talked to me.”

Lyndon went stone cold. He stopped breathing. For a moment, Alex didn’t know why, and then--

“You told her,” Lyndon said at the same time Alex said “I didn’t tell her!”

Lyndon wasn't listening. He also wasn’t breathing. His pupils were dark and wide. “You told her. You told on me.”

“No. No! I wouldn’t tell anyone, okay? This is private. Between you and me.”

Their eyes met. Lyndon took a tentative breath.

“You and me.” Alex repeated, hoping to starve off this particular catastrophe. “Just you and me, okay?”

“Don’t tell her.”

“Right. No. I’m not. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“What did you…?” Lyndon trailed off, his gaze hazy like he couldn’t quite keep it together. Alex just kept talking, hoping Lyndon wouldn’t start the hitch-sob breathing that signaled a panic attack.

“I didn’t tell her anything about you. I just told her I like it. What we’re doing. But I didn’t tell her _what_ we’re doing.” He paused then, because, well… “I, uh, right. This thing we’re doing? I like it.”

Lyndon's expression suggested Alex might be speaking another language.

“I like that you need me. I like that I can help you.”

His face felt hot, though this was arguably one of the less intimate exchanges they’d had in the last ten minutes.

Lyndon shook his head. “I hate needing anything.”

“I know.” Dear God, did he know. Lyndon couldn’t let himself have the smallest kindness. But he’d let himself have this, and Alex didn’t want to fuck that up. He didn’t want to lose this. He didn’t want _Lyndon_ to lose this. “So when you tell me that you need something, that’s uh, that’s good. Feels important.”

“Oh.” Lyndon said. He was seeping closer and closer, wrapping himself around Alex like an exhausted blanket.

Alex figured he’d divulged his heart already and added: “You’re important.”

“Stop.” Lyndon said into his throat.

Alex’s lips ticked up. “So I have your permission to take your clothes off and touch your dick while you piss and kind of enjoy it. Just as long as I don’t tell you you’re important.”

Lyndon snorted. He shrugged helplessly. “You could do so much better than me.”

Alex made himself smile, though it felt stiff. “Nah.”

“Someone toilet trained, at least,” Lyndon said.

Alex wanted to kiss the sadness out of him, but they hadn’t talked about that yet. “I don’t love anyone like I love you.”

Instead of withdrawing--which was what Lyndon _did_ , what he always did, practically who he was--instead of that, his wiry arms tightened around Alex’s back, and Alex thought he felt a smile being pressed into his skin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been more quiet than kink around here lately, but here is the final part. I have to admit that it’s a bit less porny than you might rightfully be expecting.

From: Lyndon  
You around?

From: Lyndon  
I need you

From: Lyndon  
No

From: Lyndon  
I don’t need you

From: Lyndon  
I mean I do but not

From: Lyndon  
not like that

From: Lyndon  
Fuck. 

To: Lyndon  
I'm around, dude. Where are you?

From: Lyndon  
I need a ride.

To: Lyndon  
Your wish, my command. When?

From: Lyndon  
Now?

To: Lyndon  
Sure

From: Lyndon  
Thanks

To: Lyndon  
Yep

To: Lyndon  
You gonna tell me where you are?

To: Lyndon  
Lyndon?

Alex frowned at his phone while it remained silent in his hand. He leaned against the door to his car, arms folded over his chest. It wasn’t exactly cold, but it was possible he’d been out of his apartment and down to his car in the drafty parking lot as soon as “I need you” had been typed on Lyndon’s phone.

When a reply finally came, Alex’s eyebrows rose.

From: Lyndon  
Don’t freak out.

Alex promptly called him.

“I said _don’t_ freak out,” Lyndon voice came through the speakers. He sounded normal, but Alex wasn’t letting his guard down.

“You only say that when something terrible has happened to freak me out.”

“That’s…” Lyndon sighed and trailed off.

“Fair? I know. What’s beeping?”

There was a long pause

“Lyn?”

“I just, I need a ride.”

Alex pursed his lips. “I know, babe, but you have to tell me where you are first.”

Lyndon sighed. “You know St. John’s, downtown?”

“Do I know the hospital?” The cold stone in the center of Alex’s stomach had nothing to do with the weather. “What are you doing at the hospital?”

“Not much.”

“Lyndon.”

“Forget it. I can take the bus.”

“Fuck that. Take the bus and I will put you _in_ the hospital.”

“Yeah, change my life.” Lyndon snorted.

Alex didn’t like the sound of that at all. “You’re already in the hospital.”

“I did say--”

“That’s a fucking heart monitor and you’re in the--” Alex cut himself off abruptly, feeling the anger drain from him, replaced with a stone cold fear. “Are you _okay_?”

“Yes, Alex.”

Alex forced himself to breathe. Lyndon was okay. He sounded okay. He was probably-- there were a million questions Alex wanted to ask, and not one of them was more important than getting to St. John’s right then.

“I’m on my way.”

A tire-screechingly short time later, Alex was pulling into St. John’s parking lot. He was through the doors before he realized he had no idea where Lyndon was, and at the front desk seconds later.

“My boyfriend,” Alex started to explain to the nurse on duty, and then had to correct himself. “My friend? My boyfriend on hiatus--”

The harried woman behind the desk looked amused. “I just need his name, sir.”

Lyndon was on the third floor, and the elevator wasn’t moving fast enough. Alex tapped his foot and shifted his weight, feeling his teeth grind together. The hospital was stark and white and full of people who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else, and Alex couldn’t help but agree. 

At room 306, there was a picture of a cheerful maple leaf with the words “fall risk” below it. Alex barged in on silence. Lyndon was laying in a hospital bed, his shoulders covered in a papery blue material that must have been the standard hospital gown and a blanket pulled up over his stomach. His eyes were closed, his eyelids thin and touched with blue veins. Alex stumbled through the doorway, grabbing Lyndon’s hand from the side of the bed as he tumbled into the chair.

Lyndon blinked himself awake. “Alex.”

“You texted me.”

Lyndon’s nose wrinkled. “I _remember_. I’m not dying. Jesus.”

“Good to know.” Alex offered a shaky smile, his eyes bouncing off the various machines in the room, trying to take everything in. His mind wasn’t processing it. All he could think was that Lyndon had been hurt. Lyndon had taken _himself_ to the hospital, and Alex hadn’t been there.

Lyndon looked at him and sighed. “I knew I should have Ubered.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because you give a shit?” Lyndon shrugged, looking uncomfortable. He pushed himself up a bit and Alex adjusted the pillow behind his head.

“I do. I give a shit. I give so many shits, you have no idea.” He squeezed Lyndon’s hand, probably too hard. “What happened?”

“Nothing? I didn’t.” Alex listened patiently to what was clearly a deeply edited account of events for his sake. “I didn’t feel... good… so I came here, and they gave me some antibiotics, and they say I can go. I just need a ride.”

“Actually, if you’d like to check out, you need someone to monitor you.”

Alex and Lyndon jumped simultaneously as the nurse in the doorway spoke up. Lyndon didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. “Right.”

“To be perfectly fair,” Alex said when the nurse gave Lyndon the stink-eye, “after he called me here, he knew I wasn’t going to leave him alone for at least a week.”

“More like two.”

The nurse looked marginally less offended. “Well, as long as you understand.”

As soon as the nurse exited, Alex asked Lyndon, “So, what’s the official version?”

Lyndon wrinkled up his nose and folded his arms over his thin chest. He looked embarrassed. “Bladder infection.”

“Oh.” Alex thought about that and--yeah. Yeah, that kind of made a lot of sense. What he didn’t say was _Oh, sweet thing_. He was probably telegraphing it pretty hard with his eyes, though, because Lyndon huffed and flailed a hand at him.

“I’m fine!” 

“Okay.”

“It doesn’t even hurt anymore!”

“You didn’t say it hurt before,” Alex said gently. 

“They gave me… I can’t pronounce it. It wasn’t morphine or anything.”

“Okay.”

“But it made me woozy, and so when I tried to get up, I wasn’t expecting--so I fell, because today wasn’t mortifying enough, you know, and the nurses got all upset--they think I’m _difficult_ \--which is how I ended up being admitted, and now they want to catheterize me because I can’t--” Lyndon waved his hand vaguely “--but my insurance is crap, and the doctor said I could go if I had someone take care of me.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

“I know.” Lyndon sighed and sank back on the bed, the energy seeping out of him. “You always do.”

“Only when you let me.” Alex pushed himself to his feet. He stroked his fingers over the back of Lyndon’s hand as he moved towards the door. “I’ll go check you out.”

Out at the nurses’ station there was more than one waiver to sign and a slew of advice and care-for instructions. There were antibiotics and painkillers and strict instructions on drinking water that Lyndon would no doubt hate. Alex listened to it all, and when he came back to the room Lyndon was sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs hanging off, frowning severely at the linoleum floor.

“You okay?” Alex asked, setting Lyndon’s clothes on the empty chair. 

“If I fall again, they’re definitely going to stick a tube up my dick.”

Alex bit back a smile. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Nurses are scary.” Lyndon looked at him thoughtfully. Then he reached his arms out. “Help?”

“Always.” Alex throat closed around itself, his voice rough. He peeled the hospital gown from Lyndon’s shoulders. Goosebumps rose on Lyndon’s pale skin as Alex smoothed his hand over it and Lyndon shivered, a full body motion. Alex reached quickly for Lyndon’s cotton shirt, pulling it over Lyndon’s arms when he obediently raised them. It was far too thin, and short sleeved to boot, so Alex pulled off his own hoodie and transferred that over as well, adjusting the sleeves over Lyndon’s wrists and hooking the thumb holes over Lyndon’s fingers. 

That done, Alex peeled the hospital gown and blanket from Lyndon’s lap, leaving him naked from the waist down. Alex grabbed his underwear from the pile and threaded his bare feet through the holes, pulling them up his slim legs, brushing soft blond hairs as he did. The jeans were next, cumbersome and too-tight. Alex didn’t zip them, because Lyndon’s abdomen looked bloated in the open V of his fly. Dressing Lyndon was strangely soothing.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Alex asked, tugging his oversized sweatshirt down over the open fly when Lyndon tentatively found his footing. “Your stomach looks bloated.”

“You calling me fat?” Lyndon asked, taking a coltish step. 

Alex actually laughed at that. “Bitch, please. Have a sandwich.”

Lyndon grinned at him, blue eyes bright and perhaps a little bit doped up. 

“Seriously, though, is that supposed to go down?” He drew his hand over Lyndon’s lower stomach, intimately familiar with the way it swelled.

Perhaps a bit too familiar.

Lyndon looked down when Alex caught his eye. “They couldn’t... um, they think I’m difficult, and it’s not complicated, they can just diagnose from symptoms, like, pain…”

“You haven’t pissed.” Alex’s mouth hung open, fresh anger burning in his muscles. “You have a bladder infection, in the hospital, and you haven’t _pissed_?”

Lyndon sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You know why I can’t.”

Alex wanted to strangle him. “This is how you ended up here in the first place!”

“I know!” Lyndon snapped. “Can we just go home?”

Alex tugged on his shoulder when Lyndon took another hesitant step forward and swung him back around. “I’m not gonna help you make yourself worse.”

“Then take me home,” Lyndon said, his voice going high at the end.

“How is that not making it worse?”

“Oh, my god,” Lyndon pressed his palms to his eyes. “Can we please have this argument in the car?”

Alex pursed his lips, feeling his muscles spasm randomly with tension. He considered the options. He considered the option that, if he wanted to, he could just walk Lyndon right back to the ER from his car. 

“Yeah, okay.”

Lyndon looked momentarily surprised. From the doorway, someone else made a startled noise. Alex turned, and the same nurse from before was holding a wheelchair and frowning at Lyndon.

“Sit down.”

“I can walk.”

“Sit,” said the nurse, “Down.”

Lyndon sat down.

Alex snorted.

The nurse left them on the sidewalk outside and Alex wordlessly wound himself under Lyndon’s arm, starting them both towards where his jeep was parked. Lyndon sighed in relief, leaning into him more than was perhaps necessary, his chin resting on Alex’s shoulder. 

By the time they got to the car, Lyndon was limp like a noodle, sinking into the leather seat with a satisfied sigh. 

Checking that all of Lyndon’s limbs were safely inside the vehicle, Alex closed the door softly and moved around to the driver’s side of the car. He got in, folded his arms over his chest, and turned to Lyndon.

“All right. Argue with me.”

Lyndon did not, as Alex had half been expecting, lay out a well-reasoned argument as to why it was better to leave the hospital than to stay. He didn’t even lay out the entirely self-destructive logic that Alex was fully expecting.

Instead, Lyndon’s eyes grew wet, and then his eyelashes collected tears, and then he sniffed soppily, and then Alex had to lean over the parking brake to wrap his arms around him.

“Okay, okay, you win,” Alex said into the shoulder of his own hoodie on Lyndon’s bony frame. “You should join the debate club. You’re winning. You win. Whatever you want.”

Lyndon made a noise between a sob and a laugh. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” Alex said. “Your arguments overpower me.”

“I really do just want to go home,” Lyndon sniffed, his hand finding Alex’s back in the hug. “I can’t… I can’t give them the fucking urine sample they want, because I’m fucking _difficult_ , I am, and I think they thought I was a junkie when I came in, because they weren’t going to give me anything, so I fucking cried like a baby, like I am now--and they gave me something, and it stopped hurting, and it hurt so fucking much, and I had to pee, and I still have to pee, and if you would just take me home I could finally fucking pee, and that would be great.”

“Sounds good,” Alex said into his shoulder.

“You do _not_ get to cry too,” Lyndon said at the waver in Alex’s voice. “This is pathetic enough.”

“Noted.” Alex drew reluctantly away and started up the car. 

He didn’t complain about Lyndon’s lack of a seat belt, though if the circumstances had been different he would have. A week ago Lyndon had been dying for a piss in his car and Alex had made him wear the damn seat belt--but people who called you from the hospital got free passes, so Alex drove slowly and carefully, and Lyndon closed his eyes and pressed the side of his face against the cool glass of the window. 

Back at Lyndon’s apartment, Alex parked and came around to Lyndon’s side of the car. After a moment’s thought, he reached behind Lyndon into the back seat, where the plain cardboard box sat, and pulled it out.

Lyndon eyed the package as he swung his legs out of the car. “What is that?”

“It’s a present,” Alex said, and then, because it was true: “You’re not gonna like it.”

Lyndon raised a single eyebrow and chose not to comment.

Back towards the apartment and up the stairs, Alex kept one hand spread between Lyndon’s shoulder blades, but he didn’t seem so unsteady now. Whatever they’d given him, it had likely worn off a bit.

“You still okay on pain?”

“Fine,” Lyndon said, unlocking the front door to his lonely little apartment and flicking the light on. 

He’d missed the wallpaper, Alex realized only when he saw the vintage monstrosity of shapes forming an intricate pattern. In the time since they’d broken up, Alex had spent hours in deep contemplation of how much he missed Lyndon’s second-hand couch that tried to swallow you whole when you sat in it, the squeaky bed that was only made bearable by a thick feather mattress topper, and even the tiny shower-bath combination that they both, just barely, fit in, if Lyndon pulled his knees up.

The wallpaper, though. He’d forgotten the wallpaper.

He extended his hand to Lyndon. “Come on.”

Lyndon sighed, giving Alex’s extended hand a wane look. He did take it, though.

The tiny, single bathroom was all glass and steel and white porcelain. Lyndon had done nothing to make the tiny space comfortable. There were no rugs on the floor, and only a single towel hung from the hook behind the door. 

Lyndon stood in front of the toilet, so close his calves brushed the bowl. He flipped the lid up and got himself out of the unzipped jeans without fanfare or shyness. Alex could see him biting the inside of his cheek.

He moved to stand behind Lyndon, a familiar space now, but he only let his hand sooth the skin of Lyndon’s neck, rubbing gently there. He wasn’t going to push on a bladder that had already been through too much.

Into the long silence that followed, Lyndon asked, “How long are we going to stand here?”

Alex frowned. “I thought you could, at home.”

“Sometimes.” Lyndon said with exaggerated patience. “Sometimes not.”

“Why the hell…” Alex could feel his eyebrows raising.

“It’s loud.”

It wasn’t, really, but when Alex listened, he could hear the sound of talking and laughter coming from the floor above.

His hand stopped moving on Lyndon’s shoulder, and he squeezed gently. “Go lie down. I’m going to run a bath.”

Lyndon fumbled with his fly, leaving it unzipped, his bladder still swollen as he turned towards Alex. He looked uncomfortable, confused and surprised.

“We’re not going to argue about going back to the ER?”

Alex shrugged. “You’d probably just cry again.”

Lyndon kicked him. “I didn’t fucking mean to.”

“It’s okay.” Alex said, and he hoped some of the affection he felt came through, either in the tone of his voice or the warmth of the smile he tried to communicate to Lyndon. “It’s okay, for real. Go lie down.”

Still looking confused, Lyndon slipped out of the bathroom, throwing a suspicious look over his shoulder. 

Lyndon was too spartan to have anything even approaching bubble bath. Alex was expecting that. Lyndon used his shampoo like it was a body wash, for fuck’s sake. For all Lyndon was beautiful, he didn’t seem to try very hard at it. 

Instead, Alex focused on the temperature of the water, making it just a bit too hot so when he finally got Lyndon into the bath, the temperature would be perfect. He found more towels in the linen closet, and mutinously lay one down on the floor by the tub. There.

Then he went to get the cardboard box from where he’d left it in the entry hall.

You couldn’t hear the sounds of the party upstairs from Lyndon’s bedroom. Alex found himself smiling as he approached the bed. 

Lyndon had wrapped himself up like a burrito in his comforter, the thick, soft blanket wrapped all the way up to his face and held at his nose with a clenched hand. Alex brushed his hair off his forehead, eliciting a soft whine. 

The blanket was open at the bottom, exposing Lyndon’s bare feet. He'd shucked off his jeans at the door, underwear hanging off the edge of a chair, but he was still wearing Alex’s hoodie. His feet moved as Alex stood there, shifting and rubbing against each other. His toes curled and straightened.

Alex found himself catching a bare foot, stoking the arch.

“I’m not really… comfortable.” Lyndon admitted, like it cost him something. Like Alex couldn’t tell, after all this time.

“We’ll sort you out.” Alex leaned down, and, feeling whimsical, pressed his closed lips to the bony knob of Lyndon’s ankle. “Sit up.”

Lyndon squirmed, rolled, and sat, letting the blanket fall into his lap. Alex reached out and slung it over his shoulders again, wrapped it up tightly and tucking the edge into Lyndon’s open hand. Lyndon’s blue eyes watched him as he withdrew, steady and curious. They widened when Alex returned to the room with a white, ceramic bowl.

“That’s….”

“For you.”

“...a chamber pot?”

The chamber pot was thick rimmed and heavy, painted with a simple geometric blue and somehow worn looking, even though it was new, like it had come right out of the 1800s. Alex set it on the bed in front of Lyndon.

“You got this for me.” Lyndon stated, eyes glued to the pot.

Alex wasn’t quite sure what that reaction was. It wasn’t shouting, yet, which was a surprise. 

“It might help.” He said, careful to keep his tone light. “I was thinking: if you're warm in bed, and you're sleepy, and you have to pee, this way you can let go without ever moving."

Lyndon pulled the blanket a little tighter around himself. The bed creaked as his weight shifted, but he never looked away from the pot.

“Lyn?”

“Yes,” Lyndon said, his lips popping around the word. He shifted his weight again, eliciting a whine from the bed. “Can you… would you…”

Wordlessly, Alex parted the blankets where Lyndon was kneeling and pushed the chamber pot into the little tee-pee it created. He should have looked funny, wearing only Alex’s red hoodie, naked from the waist down, his bladder protruding and his penis hanging, soft, between his open thighs. Instead, Alex’s chest felt full to bursting with helpless affection.

“...hold me.” Lyndon said, finally looking up to meet Alex’s eyes. His cheeks were pink. “I was trying to say… can you hold me?”

The bed squeaked loudly when Alex crawled on, mattress dipping under their combined weight as Alex came up behind Lyndon and wrapped his arms around the blanket covered boy. It only took a moment for Lyndon to lean back into him.

Alex tightened his arms, Lyndon sighed, and then, from beneath the blankets, there was the hiss of liquid pouring into ceramic. Alex blinked, and Lyndon looked no less startled. Even with Alex pummeling his over-full bladder, it was never that quick. Yet, Lyndon was already tipping his head back, making the rare noises of relief, his eyelashes fluttering with it and his pink lips parted. Somehow, being warm and wrapped up and held seemed to be exactly what Lyndon needed. 

So close to Alex’s ear it almost startled him, Lyndon moaned.

“Feel good?” Alex brushed his fingers over Lyndon’s exposed jaw, his arms still wrapped tightly around him. He wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

“Yeah.” Lyndon said, his voice rough with relief when his stream finally trickled into quiet. “Fuck. Can you…Can you touch me?”

“I am.”

“I want you to touch... I want you to fuck me.”

“You...” Alex breathed out, surprised despite himself. “Can I?”

He’d wanted, all this time, for Lyndon to want him again, for Lyndon to let him touch and be touched with whatever intimacy he’d allow. But somehow when Lyndon asked for it, it was as if it was an entirely new concept, something novel and untried.

Lyndon turned his head into the crook of Alex’s neck, as if shy. “Please.”

Wrapped around Lyndon’s chest, Alex found his hand was shaking when he went to part the blanket. He stopped, looking at his hand, just watching it shake. “I told you before, I don’t… I can’t do friends with benefits. I can’t, with you.”

“I don’t think touching me is much of a benefit,” Lyndon muttered into his neck.

Alex laughed, because he was so ridiculously wrong. 

“I love you. All I want is to love you. All I want is for you to _let_ me.”

Lyndon licked his lips, so close to Alex’s throat. “I’ll let you.”

“Not the way I need you to.”

“Not…” Lyndon sighed. “Maybe not. Maybe… I don’t know what you need, Alex. I broke your heart. I broke my heart too. I broke things. I don’t know how to put them back together. So whatever you need, just take it. If… If taking care of me makes you feel taken care of, and I think maybe it does, if that’s what you need, then--I think we’ve been doing that.”

Those words hit him like a brick wall to the face. Alex was dumbstruck, and then he was trying to push Lyndon away, to see his face, and to hold him closer all at once. Lyndon made a soft, startled noise, and Alex reached around, grabbed the thick rim, and put the chamber pot on the floor before he pushed Lyndon into the feather bed and kissed him. 

The noises Lyndon made, when Alex tugged them from his lips, were soft and surprised and then deeper and yearning. Alex kissed him until he was dizzy and left Lyndon panting. 

“Sweet thing,” Alex breathed. “My sweet, sweet Lyndon.”

“Yes,” Lyndon said, a tiny smile pulling at his pinkened lips. “Even that, if you must.”

“You’re perfect.” Alex drew his hands down Lyndon’s soft, cotton clad chest beneath the blanket, suddenly needing to feel his skin.

He drew the blanket back, Lyndon dropping the edge when Alex tugged. Alex slipped his hands under his hoodie to feel Lyndon’s chest, to feel him breathe, and then he tugged that off too, savoring the little sound Lyndon made at the loss of the apparently prized hoodie.

“You can keep it,” Alex promised, his hands stroking soft, naked skin. “My whole wardrobe, it’s yours.”

“I just want the hoodie.” Lyndon lied. It was a lie. It was such a lie.

When Lyndon pressed tentatively on his chest, Alex sat back, enjoying the view of Lyndon stretched out naked beneath him, his cock swollen and pink against his stomach. Lyndon’s ears turned pink under the scrutiny. He turned his head, but his fingers caught in Alex’s shirt.

Alex stripped his shirt off at the silent request. He stood up enough to remove his jeans, and he probably looked as fumbling and desperate as he felt. It had been so long since they’d done this that everything felt new. 

When he finally knelt naked over Lyndon, Lyndon wasn’t blushing anymore.

“Let me put my mouth on it.” Lyndon’s pink lips parted, his tongue lashing out. He looked at Alex like he was starving, or had been until this very moment. 

“God yes,” Alex said, and then Lyndon was the one who was on top of him. He fell back into the feather bed with a comical squeak from the mattress springs. Lyndon kissed his chest, kissed his pelvis, kissed his cock. 

Alex let his head fall back. He let himself moan. Even as he made the sound, Lyndon was wrapping his lips around Alex’s cock. 

“So perfect,” Alex managed to rasp out, because he didn’t think Lyndon could ever hear it enough, and saying it never seemed to make the scale of it any less, to make his need and love for Lyndon anymore tolerable or manageable. Somehow, it just seemed to grow. 

Lyndon was moving the velvet skin of his lips up and down, his hand gripping and moving in sync. This was going to be over ridiculously quickly, Alex had the time to think. He'd wanted this so long, he didn't want to hold back.

He stoked his hands though Lyndon’s long blond hair as his head bobbed. Thrills of pleasure shot through Alex, from Lyndon mouth up his spine and surrounding his fluttering heart like he was electric. His head tipped back with pleasure, only for him to raise it again, not wanting to look away from Lyndon, not for a second. 

“Lyn--” Alex tugged Lyndon’s hair, probably too hard, as he felt himself tipping over a point, and then Lyndon drew back, his lips so swollen and pink, and Alex’s orgasm spurted over his chest. 

Gasping for much needed breath, Alex tugged Lyndon to him, pressing their faces together as he breathed. 

Lyndon, always uncharacteristically giddy about sex, even when he hadn’t come yet, pressed his nose against Alex’s and made a noise that could only be described as a giggle. “That,” he said, “was fast.”

Then Lyndon gasped, his mouth opening wide when Alex’s hand wrapped around his cock. Alex grinned and nosed his temple. 

“It isn’t over.”

The bath was cold by the time they got to it.

“I had a plan.” Alex said, only half in apology. “I had a timetable. You ruined it.”

Lyndon only made a vaguely agreeable noise, hanging his arms over Alex’s shoulders, limpet-like as he only was after sex (or pissing, Alex now knew.) Alex reached up and tangled his fingers through Lyndon’s.

“One of us,” Alex said, thoroughly wrapped in Lyndon, “is going to have to turn the hot water on.”

“Nnn,” said Lyndon. Then he pressed his lips to Alex’s neck and sucked.

Neither of them turned the hot water on for quite awhile.

Alex was feeling the raw, sensitive spots on his neck when he finally settled into the bath, spreading his legs in the shallow but warm water to make room for his off-hiatus-boyfriend.

“Come to me." Alex waved to him when Lyndon didn’t immediately get into the bath. “It's your turn to be little spoon.”

Lyndon made a put out noise, but delicately stepped into the bath and lowered himself between Alex’s legs. The warm water rushed over their feet from the tap, filling up the tub. 

Alex wrapped his arms comfortably around Lyndon, only realizing he was pressing on his sensitive lower stomach when Lyndon flinched.

“Sorry,” Alex said, untangling his arms right away. “Still hurts?”

Lyndon made a soft, hopeless noise of effort. Alex stroked his hair.

“Sweetheart?”

“Fuck, um.” Lyndon made a hitched, breathy noise, somewhere between a startled laugh and a cry. "I just… I pissed in the bath." His voice was tinged with so much shame, Alex wanted to press kisses all down his body, all over his bladder, until Lyndon stopped sounding broken.

Instead, he said simply, "Okay," and pulled the plug to the bath out with his toes. As the water began to drain again, he dropped his hand to Lyndon's abdomen, stroking the space between his hipbones. "Pee for me."

Lyndon's breath hitched and his body jerked. Underwater, Alex couldn't hear the sound of his release, but it was clear from the tense and release of his shoulders and the spasms of his bladder under Alex's hand that he was letting go. Lyndon let loose a tiny, relieved noise, and Alex wondered if it helped his anxiety that he couldn't be heard peeing, liquid into liquid.

"All right?" Alex asked, still stroking his hair. Lyndon shivered and grabbed for Alex's hand.

"I'm... fine. I'm fine now." Alex could hear him swallow and see him turn pink. "I'm done now."

Alex folded his arms around Lyndon's chest and hugging from behind.

"Poor thing," Alex found himself crooning, nuzzling the back of Lyndon's damp hair as the tub drained fully.

"You," Lyndon said hitchingly, his heart beating under Alex's hands. "Are you getting off on this?"

The both lay naked in the empty tub. Lyndon was practically in his lap, and Alex knew that he could feel the hardness of Alex's cock pressed against his ass.

"It just sort of happened." He admitted, reaching clumsily past Lyndon to turn back on the tap, filling the tub with clean water. "Does that freak you out?"

"Me?" Lyndon breathed a laugh. "I pissed on you. You're the one who should be freaked out."

"Well, you can tell I'm not."

Lyndon made a hopeless sound. "You confuse me. You always confuse me."

"Because I love you. And some part of you just can't figure out how that's possible."

"Hm," Lyndon murmured, which was as good as agreement.

"In case you're curious...” Alex forged on. He put his hand meaningfully over Lyndon’s heart. “It feels like that.”

It his arms, Lyndon went stiff and then limp again in only a moment, as if tensing was just a reflex he couldn’t bring himself to honor. He leaned back onto Alex’s wet chest instead, the water coming up to their stomachs now.

“Presumptuous,” Lyndon said.

Alex smiled; touched his hair; waited.

“I do love you.”

“I know. I never stopped knowing that.” And then, because feelings were difficult for Lyndon, and Alex did love him, he dropped his hand into the water, caressed Lyndon’s bladder, and said lightly, “I think the sex helped.”

“What?” Lyndon half turned around to look at him. He wrinkled his nose. “Oh. Alex! Shut up.”

“No, I really do.” Alex was grinning now. He stopped the filling water of the tub and leaned back, basking in the warm, clean feeling of Lyndon in his arms. “I think we might be onto something here.”

“The chamber pot, if anything.”

“That too,” Alex agreed, brushing his fingers through Lyndon’s wet hair. “I help you, I like to think.”

Instead of responding, Lyndon made a grab for Alex's hand and pulled it up to his lips. Alex could feel Lyndon smile on the back of his hand. “Wash my hair.”

“My pleasure,” Alex said, and reached for the shampoo.


End file.
